Literary Supplement

The mother
Takes the hand of the girl
After eye surgery—
Cataracts they said—
And leads her from the house
Under the dark mosque of clear
Night sky,
Removing bandages
Like packages of warm
Red clay,
Moistening away dried
Halos of blood
Around the stitches,
And finally brushing her eyelashes
Gently with the nail
On her pinky finger
To separate them
From each other.